


The Beginning is a New End

by The_Bookkeeper



Series: Hi Qui Custodiunt Ipsum Custodem [5]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bookkeeper/pseuds/The_Bookkeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“This is it,” said Jack glumly, his voice slightly muffled by the wood. “This is the end of Captain Jack Harkness. The Doctor has officially stolen my mojo.”</em> Jack discovers that sometimes when one door opens, another slams shut on your face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning is a New End

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series, but can be read alone. All you really need to know is that Jack found the Doctor sometime before Everything Changes and Smith and Jones, the two of them retrieved Rose from Pete's World, and now all three are travelling together. Rated teen for Jack Harkness being slightly drunk with an attractive person. Fair warning: despite the general amusement value of Jack striking out and being drunk, this isn't terribly humorous and eventually evolves into angst.

Kilur was a nice little planet, really, the odd megalomaniac aside. Jack had been in worse places, certainly.   
  
They had saved the planet earlier that day, in a surprisingly quick and bloodless escapade. Following the interruption to what he had promised would by a perfectly harmless trip to get parts for the TARDIS, the Doctor had taken a look at his companions’ irritated expressions and, in one of those startlingly prudent moves that made Jack wonder just how much of his obliviousness was feigned, ushered them over the planet’s one and only nightlife.   
  
Jack had split off from the other two, intent on taking care of some of his more . . . personal needs. They had waved him off with nearly identical knowing looks, and he had proceeded to stop at three bars and flirt with eleven people of various species, only to slide into his fourth bar at about four in the morning (local time) with nothing to show for his efforts but lighter pockets, a slight buzz of alcohol, and a creeping gloominess in his chest.  
  
He tried to tell himself that he was just out of practice, but it was more than that and he knew it. It was incredibly difficult to successfully pick up anyone when all he could think about was whether or not Rose had gotten the Doctor onto the dance floor and if alcohol affected Time Lords.   
  
Still, he had needs, and he wasn’t going to satisfy them by moping. He’d just pick someone here, pull out all the stops, and if that didn’t work, then he was done. Officially. The end; kaput.  
  
He scanned the bar for a likely candidate.  
  
The Inulare in the corner was out -- he wasn’t really in the mood for tentacles tonight. The giggling girls who filled a table near the door were far too young, even by his admittedly loose standards. The humanoid man at the end of the bar was an option . . . until he looked up, and the combination of dark glare and blue eyes sent uncomfortable shivers of familiarity down Jack’s spine. He did not need any help thinking about the Doctor tonight.  
  
Further down the bar was an utterly gorgeous Vinvocci woman, alone, regarding the bottom of a glass sullenly. Obviously, she was in a very bad mood — she had probably broken up with someone recently, or else some other misfortune had befallen her. Hitting on her was likely to get him either a very good night of no-strings-attached rebound sex, or a swift kick in the groin.  
  
He had always been a bit of a gambler.  
  
“Hey,” he greeted, sliding up next to her and giving her grin number thirty-six, Life-Sucks-But-Aren’t-I-Handsome. “Looks like you need that. Let me buy the next one?”   
  
She shifted slightly to look at him, scanning him critically from head to toe. Her eyes lingered unashamedly on his crotch, chest, and jaw line, but also brightened with interest when they landed on his vortex manipulator. The recognition marked her as intelligent as well as beautiful — the night was becoming more promising.  
  
“Alright then. Have at it. I’m Aurelane, by the way.”   
  
“Captain Jack Harkness. So,” he said casually, signaling the barkeep for two of whatever she was having. Its remnants were a thick amber at the bottom of her glass, Kilurine whisky, if he had to guess. Strong stuff, but nothing he couldn’t handle. “What’s a lovely Vinvocci like you doing all alone?” The wonderful thing about being a time and space traveler: lines that were cliché on twenty-first century Earth were original on thirty-second century Kilur.   
  
“I split up with my boyfriend today.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” said Jack, with sympathetic look number three, Don’t-You-Just-Hate-It-When-That-Happens.   
  
“Don’t be,” said the Aurelane, and seemed to mean it. “He was an idiot. Tried to lie to me.”  
  
“Ah,” said Jack with nod number twelve, I’m-Sure-That-Made-Sense-To-You-And-I-Probably-Agree. He had a lot of practice at that one. In came in handy dealing with people anywhere in the Universe, not to mention the Doctor.   
  
“I’m an empath,” she elaborated.  
  
“Ah,” he repeated, this time with genuine understanding. “He really is an idiot, then. You’re better off without him.”  
  
The amused look she shot him made him think that maybe that particular line wasn’t reserved to twenty-first century Earth. He’d have to look into expanding his repertoire.  
  
“So,  _Captain_  Jack.” She said his title with a degree of sarcasm which it was probably due, seeing as he hadn’t actually captained a ship in over a century. He wondered vaguely how developed of an empath she was, and just how much she had seen inside his head. Not too much, he decided, because she hadn’t run in the other direction yet, but evidently enough to realize that his title was honorary at best. “What brings a Time Agent like you to a little nothing of a place like this?”   
  
“I’m not really a Time Agent,” he said, with grin number twenty-five, Ain’t-Nothing-Gonna-Tie-Me-Down. “More of a . . . freelancer.” And didn’t that give him flashbacks to 1941 and invisible Chula warships? He really needed to stop recycling lines, particularly when they made him think of a certain off-limits blonde and made it difficult to focus on a possibly within-limits Vinvocci.  
  
“Stole that, then, did you?” she asked, sounding unfazed as she gestured at his vortex manipulator with her glass.   
  
“Something like that,” he said, shooting her smirk number eight, I’m-A-Bit-Dangerous-And-Isn’t-That-Exciting, from behind his glass. The alcohol burned as it went down, one of those familiar/distant feelings which he had often indulged in on Earth, but rarely experienced in his travels with the Doctor.  
  
“Hm. You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here, Captain Jack Harkness?”  
  
“I’m travelling,” said Jack. It was probably the truest answer he could give, even if it was a gross understatement.   
  
“Alone?” asked Aurelane.   
  
“With friends.” He kept his tone and expression nonchalant, but the shrewd look she gave him told him that she had picked up on at least some of the maelstrom of emotions that accompanied his words. Thankfully, she didn’t press for details.  
  
“What sort of ship?” she asked instead.  
  
“It’s — not mine.” He was starting to remember why he usually avoided empaths. It was inordinately difficult to talk to someone he couldn’t lie to.  
  
“It’s not stolen too, is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in a not entirely disapproving manner.  
  
“Not . . . exactly.” Actually, some of the comments the Doctor had made lead him to believe that maybe it was, but he always managed to let things like that slip at immensely inconvenient times. Jack half-suspected that he did it on purpose, to keep him and Rose from pursuing the topic. Evasive bastard. “What about you? Do you live around here?”  
  
“Unfortunately, yes,” Aurelane sighed. “I put twenty years into the best education in the galaxy, and where do I end up? Some godforsaken rock on the outskirts of civilization.” She took a long swig of whiskey. “Still, it’s not so bad,” she continued thoughtfully. “It’s a nice enough planet. Peaceful. Just not a lot to do, that’s all.”   
  
Jack knew an opening when he saw one.  
  
“Well, Aurelane,” he purred, moving their glasses out of the way and leaning forward so that his lips brushed her ear as his hand crept up her thigh. “I can think of a few things we could be doing.”   
  
She didn’t slap him or pull away in disgust, which was the usual response when he was that forward with someone who wasn’t interested, so he was surprised when she gently removed his hand from her leg and smiled at him sympathetically.   
  
“Sorry, Captain, but that’s not going to happen.”  
  
“Why not?” he asked, too confused to come up with a more tactful way of asking it. He had been having bad luck all night, but couldn’t think of any obvious blunder he had made this time around.   
  
“Because you’ve been thinking about someone else half the time you’ve been here,” she said bluntly. Jack winced, and her gaze softened. “Look, honey, empath or no, that kills the mood. Whoever it is, I can’t tell if you want to protect him, shag him, or impress him, but I’m not going to be your distraction, substitute, or tool. It’s a pity,” she added sincerely, eying him regretfully. “You’re not half bad.”   
  
“Sorry,” said Jack, managing to muster up grimace number two, I’m-A-Bit-Of-An-Idiot.   
  
“It’s alright,” said Aurelane with a shrug, standing. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve met all week, even if you were giving half-truths the whole time. Thanks for the drink.”  
  
“No problem,” he said, trying for grin number eleven, Anytime,-Sweetheart, and failing.   
  
“Cheer up,” she said, before she turned away. “That girl in the corner is a bit desperate, if you’re into tentacles.”   
  
A moment later she was out the door, and he was signaling the barkeep for another whiskey.  
  
~~~  
  
Half an hour later and just drunk enough to loosen his tongue and make him maudlin, he let his head drop onto the bar with a dull thump.  
  
“Alright there, mate?” asked the barkeep after a few minutes, sounding more amused than concerned.  
  
“This is it,” said Jack glumly, his voice slightly muffled by the wood. “This is the end of Captain Jack Harkness. The Doctor has officially stolen my mojo.”   
  
“Has he?” asked the barkeep.  
  
“Yep,” said Jack with conviction, pulling himself upright again and catching himself before he fell off his stool. “Used to be, I could get a one-night stand in my sleep. Literally, once. Now that was an awkward morning.”  
  
The barkeep hummed in agreement, watching him with laughing eyes as he wiped down some glasses.  
  
“But now —” Jack gestured expansively with his glass. A bit of whiskey sloshed over his hand. “I haven’t had a proper shag in three months. Or maybe two. Or one. A long time, anyway. And that thing with the plant on Gindrin V doesn’t count. It’s not like the Doctor’s ever gonna shag me. I don’t even know if he’s comp — compat — compatil — if he can shag humans.   
  
“And I make him ill, anyway,” he sighed, examining the way the grain of the wood was warped by the bottom of his glass. That was probably symbolic, but he couldn’t think what of. “He says he doesn’t mind, but he’d say when he had a . . . a painful thing in his chest if he thought it’d make me feel better. Self-sacring — sacrificing idiot.”  
  
He dropped his head onto the bar again, his thoughts oozing sluggishly. It eventually occurred to him that he thought there was somewhere he was supposed to be.  
  
“What time is it?” he asked, lifting his head with effort.   
  
“Nine past eighteen,” The barkeep answered. “You have somewhere you need to be?”  
  
“Dunno,” said Jack with a frown. “Think so. Feels important.”  
  
“Maybe it has something to do with that self-sacrificing idiot of yours,” the barkeep suggested.  
  
“Probably,” Jack agreed with a heavy sigh. “Everything does, these days. Probably got himself into trouble again. Always doing that. Then I’ve gotta go save him. ‘Cept when he saves me. That happens too. Usually his fault though.”  
  
He got to his feet with a bit of a stumble and dug around in his coat for money, continuing his rant as he tossed the credits on the counter and weaved towards the door. “‘Peaceful planet,’ he says. ‘Nothing can possibly go wrong,’ he says. Next thing y’know we’re dangling upside-down over a pit of boiling lava . . . .”  
  
He trailed off as the cold night air hit his face and he stared around the street, trying to remember what he was looking for. Oh, that’s right. The Doctor. It was always the Doctor, but at least now he knew where to look.  
  
To his surprise, the Doctor was actually where he was supposed to be, more or less. When they had split up at the beginning of the night — the Doctor stating firmly that whatever Jack got up to, he didn’t want to know about it, and Rose threatening to hide the tea if the Doctor didn’t come to the clubs with her — they had agreed to meet at a small courtyard in the middle of the street. The courtyard itself was deserted, but it didn’t take Jack long to spot a familiar silhouette at the end of the street.  
  
He started towards it, but faltered, because he wasn’t too drunk to recognize the Doctor’s stance. The normally energetic Time Lord stood utterly still, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. His face was turned towards the sky, and Jack knew that if he looked his eyes would be blank and distant and empty.  
  
These were the moments that Jack dreaded. He could keep up with the running and slow them down when it was needed (most of the time). He could face the danger and take a bullet (or laser blast, or arrow, or explosion) without hesitation. He could even deal with the moments in between, could counter the anger and distract from the guilt and dull the grief (even if, with the Doctor, the relief he offered was shallow and fleeting and never, ever enough). This, though . . . he was never quite sure what to do when he left the Doctor alone for a moment (that was all the time it took) and came back to find him lost in the silence in his head and the spaces where stars used to be.  
  
Luckily, he didn’t need to be. Only seconds later Rose emerged from one of the clubs, looking a little tipsy herself. She slowed as she caught sight of the Doctor’s expression, but moved forward and took his hand. Jack was close enough that he could hear her murmuring to him, soft and soothing, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. He would bet that ‘I love you’ was in there somewhere. Probably ‘it’s alright,’ also, because when Rose said it, it almost sounded true.  
  
The Doctor still hadn’t moved, except to return Rose’s grip on his hand. Rose glanced back, meeting Jack’s eyes. There were no numbers for these gestures, but their meanings were crystal clear.  _Please help; he’s hurting._  
  
Jack moved forward, swallowing the irritation and resentment and bruised pride of a few minutes ago. Tonight might have seen the end of Captain Jack Harkness, Intergalactic Playboy, but there were far more important things in the Universe.   
  
He wrapped his own strong, warm hand around the Doctor’s icy, slender one and squeezed lightly. The Doctor closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were expressive and focused and full, even if the happiness in them was brittle and the joy was bittersweet.   
  
“Come on, then,” said the Doctor, with a smile that was less toothy than usual and all the more genuine for it. “Back to the TARDIS. We’ve places to be.”  
  
Oh, yes. Definitely more important things.


End file.
